


A Fine Line

by insouciant



Category: Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: M/M, Rush AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 07:31:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insouciant/pseuds/insouciant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris is desperate to find a new sponsor so he can return to the race.<br/>Tom tests just how desperate he is.<br/>(a rush au where Chris is basically James Hunt and Tom is an OC sponsor)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chris has seen these sorts before. The ugly sorts who are fearless, not because they have gone through hardships in life, but because they had a strong foundation beneath them that was money. Hell, he was among them before he gave it all away to be in the racetrack.

 

The Zippo lighter clicks out of place and back into its place on and on and on slowly, calmly. Those clicks are not of his doing this time. These are more in control, more controlling.

 

“I’m all ears, but you should choose your words wisely, Mr. Hemsworth. Tread carefully between confidence and arrogance, but you already know all this, don’t you? You’ve been marketing yourself for a while now, I’ve heard, looking for someone with money to buy you and your little racecar back to the races.”

 

Chris opens his mouth to answer, but there is that click again, and again, and again. His legs begin to twitch, wanting to shake his legs like he always does in situations like this. There is a long sigh that Chris could have sworn echoed through the too large room they’re in, facing each other from a close distance.

 

“Have you finally given up, Mr. Hemsworth?”

 

“No, Mr. Hiddle-”

 

“Call me, Tom. I’m no older than you are.”

 

_Yet I am here with the money you so want._  Chris can hear the unsaid words. He frowns and it won’t go away like he wants it to, so he buries his face in his hands, pretending to rub his face, acting like he’s tired. He is tired. He is tired of staying home, feeling useless and unwanted. He is tired of not being where he truly belongs.

 

“I’m faster than anybody out there in the track.”

 

“I believe there are many who would like to disagree to that statement.”

 

“I can prove it. If you would just-”

 

Another long sigh escapes the man’s lips. Tom Hiddleston. Chris has never heard of him or his company before. His brother had advised against the idea, that it was a sponsor just beginning to reach its hand into F1 and is lacking groundwork, but Chris had retorted sharply.  _What other options do I have at this point?_

 

“Mr. Hemsworth, I have more than enough money and power to buy Daniel Brühl out of Ferrari. I heard he’s quite the money chaser. An ambitious and intelligent man, he is.”

 

The crease between his eyes deepens. He’s heard that name too many times the past few weeks. He wouldn’t mind it if he was on the track against him, then his name would be mentioned just as much as his, if not more.

 

“Let me prove to you that I can beat him in the race.”

 

“Do you know what I like about Brühl so much? He is a smart man, not only inside that car, racing  _and winning_ , but also outside the tracks, maintaining a clean, sober life, which makes him the perfect man I’ve been looking to sponsor.”

 

He hears another click and this time, it’s him who’s sighing, long and deep, burying his face under his palms again. Anger boils inside him. It is plain that the man’s here to humiliate him, to insult him.

 

“If you can pull him out of Ferrari, why don’t you? Why are you sitting here with me, wasting both our times? I didn’t drive all the way here to hear your insult at eight in the fuckin’ morning.”

 

He expects to hear another sigh, maybe even that damn clicking sound of his lighter, but instead, what he hears is a small giggle. For the first time since their meeting, the man has smiled. His eyes follow the man’s hand, tossing the Zippo on the desk.

 

“I’m guessing you’re not desperate enough yet.”

 

“I need to know that you called me out here with an intention to at least hear me out.”

 

“Mr. Hemsworth, you have raw talent.”

 

“Then trust me that I can-”

 

“And you waste all that away, sleeping around, drinking and partying.”

 

Chris makes a fist, a hard fist that makes his knuckles turn white. He knows what he needs to say. He’s been saying them more than enough times that he’s nearly memorized them like lines for a theatrical performance. For some reason, however, the words are caught in his throat and he can’t seem to say them under the man’s scrutinizing eyes.

 

“Isn’t this the part where you persuade me, telling me that you’ll stop drinking and partying, that you’ll show the people that you’re a changed man? What will you do? Get married again simply to prove that you’re settled?”

 

“Whatever you want, I’ll do it.”

 

The words are squeezed out, but they are true nonetheless. Chris sees the man smile again. He seems to be a sadistic man, feeling pleasure from stomping on others, abusing the authority he has that he’s gained through money.  _Money that was probably inherited from his father_ , Chris grunts.

 

“Mr. Hemsworth, I don’t care if you sleep with a different woman, or man, every single day. I don’t care if you drink until you forget who you are and where you are. But if those unfortunate habits and behaviors of yours interfere with your performance on the racing track, they become a problem. It’ll be my money you’ll be blowing.”

 

“I’ll stop them. I’ll do as you say. If you want me to be serious, I’ll stop fooling around in front of cameras. I’ll be nicer. I’ll smile more often and stop throwing and kicking things when I lose races.”

 

Hiddleston’s eyes shine with amusement. There is a playful smile lingering on his lips. Maybe he’s been drinking too much. Maybe he’s been getting too little sleep for too long, but for some reason, he senses danger underneath his smile. His heart beats faster and his legs start shaking.

 

“Do you mind if I call you Chris?”

 

“No, not at all.”

 

“Chris, tell me, how desperate are you to return to the racetrack?”

 

“You know how desperate I am. I just told you I’ll do anything to get back on that track!”

 

His voice cracks in the end. He’s angry and frustrated for losing his place, not because he isn’t good enough, but because of some goddamn miscalculation in the finances. He’s bitter and overwhelmed by his longing to return to where he belongs. His legs shake and his fingers tap his lap in an irregular pattern.

 

“Anything?”

 

Chris glares at the man in front of him, smiling like he’s already wrapped his fingers around his neck. He doesn’t like the way he wants to confirm his will to sacrifice anything and everything to race again. But then again, there really is no other option left for him anymore, is there? Worst case scenario, he will have to crawl if this bastard wants him to.

 

“Anything.”

 

 

∞

 

 

Chris places his hands on Tom’s knees as a sign of  _enough_ , hoping to get just a second to breathe, but Tom’s relentless in pushing inside him. Chris is certain that he enjoys his throat tightening around his cock while he’s on his knees choking. He was right in thinking that this man’s a sadistic bastard.

 

“How does it feel, Chris? You ever got on your knees to suck anyone before?”

 

Chris ignores the mockery in his voice and concentrates on using his tongue as Tom has kindly asked him to do—and when he says kindly, he means with a dangerous growl—every ten seconds, tugging his hair. For the first time, he isn’t happy about his decision to grow his hair long. He feels Tom’s hands on his head, knows what’s coming, and shuts his eyes in disgust as Tom pushes in deeper with the intention of staying inside several seconds too long. He clutches onto Tom’s pants and tries to turn his head away.

 

“I don’t know how you’re ever going to please me if you keep this up.”

 

Tom comments as he lets him turn his head, but not before he pounds in one last time. Chris watches Tom clean himself up as he coughs frantically, still trying to catch his breath. His face remains calm as if nothing has happened between them during the past hour, as if he’s never asked this of Chris, as if he hadn’t had his cock inside him for the past half an hour. Sudden fear creeps inside Chris, seeing that Tom doesn’t look pleased at all.

 

“I’ll do it again. Let me do it again. I’ll do better this time.”

 

“Don’t worry yourself, Chris. This deal isn’t over until you find a better sponsor who doesn’t ask for any sexual favors. You’ll have plenty of time to improve.”

 

The cringe returns. Maybe the cringe has been there all along even before he stepped into Tom’s office. Something about this situation is so surreal, yet very much humiliating that he cannot wipe the cringe away even after Tom had assured him that he can be back on the track as early as the end of this week. He even allowed him to choose his own team of mechanics. Yet the cringe has remained.

 

“You really haven’t given anyone a blowjob, have you?”

 

“Never really had a cock to suck.”

 

“Not even men who were willing to suck yours?”

 

“I’ve never fucked a man in my life.”

 

Tom scoffs at that and Chris eyes turn into a glare. He cannot imagine spending the rest of the year with this man as his sponsor when he’s so intent on humiliating him. He is exploiting his situation and had asked for sexual favors. It’s disgusting, yes, indeed, but sex has been rather a pleasurable routine of his life and he took the offer with a strange ease, even though he has never slept with a man before.

 

The cause of his cringe, then, has been from something else and Chris can clearly see that it’s the way Tom’s been looking at him, or more precisely looking  _down_  at him, and talking  _down_  to him. He is aware that his image isn’t always received so positively, but is Tom not a hypocrite to judge Chris on his so called  _playboy_  behavior, when he himself is demanding sexual favors from him?

 

“What’s so funny?”

 

“The fact that you firmly believe you haven’t fucked a man in your life.”

 

“What are you trying say?”

 

Chris doesn’t get an answer. Instead, he receives a deadly glare that momentarily turns into a look of hurt. It’s like watching a beautiful, thin ice crack under his weight. They keep their eyes locked together for as long as they can. Chris tries his best to understand what the man may be trying to tell him, but he isn’t good at it.

 

He hasn’t been good at anything his whole life besides racing. Even with the slight difference in vibration during a practice race, he can figure out what needs to be fixed, but with people, especially with a poker face like Tom’s, he cannot for the life of him find the answer hiding inside him. Soon, his frown changes to that of guilt, a guilt that he doesn’t understand. Tom is taking advantage of him, so why is he looking at him with hurt and Chris with guilt?

 

Chris watches Tom straighten his suit, the once disheveled hair perfectly back in place. He takes his handkerchief out and hands it to him, whose face and hands are still a mess from their first, out of the countless,  _secret affair_.

 

“Clean yourself up properly before leaving this room, will you?”

 

Then Tom turns around. He grabs his jacket from the coat hanger, getting ready to leave. The frown is still evident on Chris’ face. Everything, from the beginning up to what had happened between them in this room, makes him cringe. His body itches in frustration. He feels like a broken bone hasn’t mended well.  _Break it again, so it’ll heal properly this time._

 

“Thanks.”

 

“For what?”

 

“I promise I’ll get you that trophy. I’ll get you that championship title.”

 

“You won’t be getting me anything, Chris. They’re all yours that I can care less about.”

 

The door shuts and he is alone in the room. He cringes. He was right about one thing: Tom Hiddleston is a sadistic bastard, a perverted one at that. But there was something else and Chris can’t quite figure them out. He simply feels that there were some things hidden deep under, things that had broken in the past and hadn’t mended well.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Chris doesn’t open his eyes. He knows that Tom will move his hand away the moment he opens his eyes. There is that long sigh again. Chris had believed that Tom’s sighs were so long and deep that the sound echoed through wherever they were, although he knew that was an impossible theory. Now he knows where his sighs echo through.

 

“I know you’re awake.”

 

He sighs again. The deep sigh echoes inside Chris, not anywhere else, he had found out, but deep within him that conveys Tom’s pain that Chris has yet to figure out  _what_. He stubbornly keeps his eyes close though. He genuinely enjoys Tom’s fingers running through his hair. He doesn’t pull or tug on it after sex, thank goodness, or else, he’ll go bald soon. He hums pleasantly as Tom doesn’t pull his hand away. It’s still there. That’s a first. There’s always a first for everything.

 

Nothing has changed since that morning. Actually, many things have changed since. Chris had gone back to the racetrack that very weekend with his hand selected team. He has been racing nonstop ever since. He cannot say that he’s been winning ever since, however. His engines have failed again and again ever since he had to take his car apart and rebuilt it to fit the regulations, because of that goddamn  _rat_ ,  _Brühl_.

 

It’s his time to sigh. Tom’s hand pauses. He feels he’s about to pull away, so he holds his hand with his. He keeps his eyes close. He wants to open them, but he knows Tom needs to take a break sometimes, too, a break from keeping that straight face of his. Somehow, Chris knows. He knows that Tom isn’t a coldhearted man like he wants him to believe. It must be hard, having to keep up with that façade all the time. So he keeps his eyes closed. Maybe Tom is looking at him with a smile. Maybe he has tears in his eyes that he doesn’t want him to see.

 

He pulls Tom’s hand close to his face. He places a kiss on each of his knuckle. There’s a first time for everything. He smiles, feeling Tom’s hand twitch and tremble nervously. It’s been several months since they’ve started their deal, yet due to the obvious reason behind their relationship, there has always been a distance between them, a distance that Chris is itching to lessen.

 

It has become a routine. Tom would come and they would fuck. Tom would leave and Chris would race. Tom had clearly mentioned that he will not interfere whatsoever with the way he carried himself in front of public eyes and also, behind the cameras, partying and sleeping around, as long as he remained his top position in the racetrack. Chris has not been winning, yet Tom has not mentioned a word about his performance. He wonders if Tom even watches any of his races. He surely hasn’t been to any of them.

 

At this point, it seems that things are heading in an odd direction. His plan of  _win more, party more_  has somewhat changed into  _win less, party less_ , unintentionally, of course. Interestingly enough, it hasn’t been the guilt of not winning that has led him to cease his wild nights and partying. It all goes back to Tom. Time and again, it seems.

 

Tom’s visits to Chris were oftentimes unplanned and unexpected. One late morning, he had found Tom standing in front of his bedroom with his arms crossed. There were bottles thrown around the house, including his bedroom, and a woman in his arm. He didn’t say anything. He never says anything. Whenever he would find Chris in this state, and by this state, Chris means whenever he wasn’t sober, Tom would simply leave with a huff.

 

It’s strange, a bit annoying really. Chris should be taking advantage of this. If his disagreeable lifestyle meant keeping Tom away, then he should be doing it even more often. Instead, he finds himself worrying. That fear of uncertainty creeps up on him again and he finds himself disciplining himself. He doesn’t understand why he’s so determined to win Tom’s approval. After all, Tom is nothing, but a rich, perverted bastard who has demanded sex for sponsoring him. He doesn’t understand why his heart calms down and his fear goes away when Tom walks into his bedroom, and numerous other hotel rooms, without a cringe and without a huff.

 

The sex is rough most of the times. He’s always left with a pleasant sore the next morning. He has almost adjusted to the uncomfortable feeling of the vibration, ringing underneath him during his practice races, bothering him in places he doesn’t want to discuss with anyone else, but Tom. It had made Tom smile that night when he told him about this awkward situation.  _I’ll make sure to be more considerate from now on_ , he had said.

 

“Good morning.”

 

“Good  _afternoon_.”

 

Tom corrects him when he finally opens his eyes. Chris secretly adores the way the end of his hair curls after sex. He enjoys the disheveled look on him. It’s strange and even  _wrong_ , but Chris can’t help but find a sense of normalcy and permanence in their ongoing relationship. Tom will come and they will fuck. Tom will leave and Chris will race.

 

 

∞

 

 

Tom stays a little longer. Chris had pulled him closer in his arms in bed. He asked if he could stay until breakfast. Tom had corrected him again that it’s already past noon, but nonetheless Tom stays for breakfast. Actually, Tom cooks breakfast for the both of them against the initial idea of Chris cooking, commenting that whatever he touches will taste either of alcohol or cigarette.

 

“You still smell just fine.”

 

Chris feels Tom tense up at his touch, the way he wraps his arms around his waist from behind and buries his nose on the crook of his neck. He tries to ignore it and stay this way for as long as he can until Tom pushes him away. He doesn’t. He doesn’t for a while and when he finally moves, it isn’t to push him away, but to place his hands on Chris’.

 

He hears Tom sigh, long and deep, his chest rising and falling. Chris sighs along. It is quite picture-perfect. The afternoon sun is warming their bodies from the windows and here they are, pretending to be a happy couple, Chris bothering for another kiss while Tom cooks for them. It isn’t picture-perfect though.  _We all have our demons_.

 

Tom never talks about himself. Tom never talks about his work, his friends and family, or his life in general. Chris doesn’t talk to him much either, but his life is on the gossip papers nearly every day. At least the mischievous side of his life is. In the end, they’re here, because Chris needed a sponsor and Tom wanted sex in return. So why can’t Chris stop looking for a better reason in their relationship?

 

 

∞

 

 

“Crazy kids.”

 

Chris sees Tom turn his eyes to him from the cup of coffee he’s holding. He folds the papers he’s been reading and throws them carelessly on the dining table. Tom follows his movements without any comment. He doesn’t ask what part of the news he read had caused him to make that comment, but Chris goes on anyways.

 

“A kid nearly died because of some crazy hazing. His leg is broken and all.”

 

Tom spills some of his coffee as he abruptly stands from his seat. Chris watches him with wide eyes. He sighs again, but Chris catches how his breath shakes unevenly. He reaches to place his hand on his wrist, but Tom is quick to move away. He watches with a cringe—yes, the cringe is back—as Tom bustles through the house, grabbing his jacket and his shoes.

 

He hears the door shut and he is alone. The house is quiet, but it doesn’t feel so calm. His fingers tap busily on the table and his legs shake nervously. He stares at the spilt coffee in front of him. Tom’s cup is still warm. He watches it as it goes cold. He sighs as he gets up to throw the coffee away in the sink. He throws the papers on top of the spilt coffee and rereads the headlines over and over again as it absorbs the stain.

 

He heads to his bedroom to grab his cigarettes. When he walks out with one in his mouth, he sees Tom standing in the doorway. They keep their eyes locked as long as they can until Tom paces up to him, takes the cigarette and throws it away. The cigarette is gone and is replaced by Tom’s lips, pushing in rough and hard.

 

They barely make it to the bedroom. There is a trail of clothes leading to the bed where Chris is leaving a mark on Tom’s shoulder. He shudders and cries out as Chris pushes in a finger. Chris has never fucked a man before. There’s a first time for everything and he enjoys every moment of it.

 

 

∞

 

 

Chris comes out of the shower. He had hoped to feel better once he cleaned himself from the grease and the rain and the mud; wash himself away from the accident, the sirens, and the solemn silence as Brühl was carried to the ambulance.  _He had pushed him to risk his life._

 

He sees Tom standing in the center of his hotel room, looking down at the crumpled papers thrown carelessly to the floor. He hasn’t expected him. He hasn’t expected Tom to be here all the way to Germany. Yet, his heart is even heavier. He isn’t able to tolerate his poker face as well as other days, not tonight.

 

“You’re writing an apology letter to Brühl?”

 

“And you’re here, all the way from England, to get your cock sucked?”

 

Tom’s eyes narrow and he cringes. It reminds Chris of the first time they met in his office. Chris had that cringe all meeting long. He doesn’t even care to dry his body, still very wet from the shower. He throws the towel on the couch and bends down to pick the failed letters he’d thrown away in frustration.

 

“Yes.”

 

Tom answers and Chris scoffs.  _Of course_ , he mutters. He tosses the letters in the trashcan. He drops the towel hanging on his waist to the ground. He glares at the man standing in front of him. He walks up to him until they’re only mere inches apart. With a smirk, he lowers his body until his knees are touching the ground.

 

His hands are on Tom’s belt, skillfully undoing it. It’s when he’s unzipping his trousers that he’s stopped by Tom. Before he turns his eyes to him, however, Tom is kneeling in front of him, his eyes filled with understanding unlike his usual poker face. His hand is on his cheek, wiping tears that Chris has yet to spill. Chris cringes, because he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand the look of hurt, and blame, that are written on his face whenever his façade drops.

 

“It’s not your fault.”

 

“I forced him to compete today.”

 

“We all make our choices. In the end, he chose to race.”

 

“It doesn’t work that way!”

 

Chris tries to stand, but he’s grabbed by Tom. His hands are desperately clutching onto Chris’. They kiss. They share a kiss that is slow and careful, hesitant. Tom’s grip on his hands is tight. Chris twists and turns his hands so that their fingers entwine. There are tears on his face. He doesn’t know whether they’re from Tom or from him. He doesn’t understand why it hurts to see tears falling down Tom’s face, why he’s falling apart in front of Tom like this.

 

“It’s all in the past now.”

 

“He might not make it.”

 

“If you linger on the past, sooner or later, it’ll poison you.”

 

 

∞

 

 

Chris holds his hand up to the ceiling. It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t solve anything. He simply likes doing it, stretching his hand out to the ceiling, studying his hand like he’s never seen it before. Then there is another hand that is stretched beside him, imitating him. He turns his eyes to Tom. His eyes are on his hand, slimmer and softer than Chris’ whose hands have toughened through years of racing and fixing cars.

 

Chris moves his hand slightly to the right. Tom moves his hand slightly to the left. Their hands meet. Tom crooks his little finger and entwines it with Chris’. There is a peaceful smile on his face and Chris smiles along. He feels relaxed and calm with Tom’s body warming the sheets with him.

 

“I joined the football club when I was in university. I should have known better that I didn’t belong there, but then, I just wanted to change myself. I had always been shy and never had close friends. I heard playing in a team together, the teamwork and sharing the hardships, brought people closer together. I had hoped that that would be a new start for me.

 

Less than a couple months later, I found myself severely bullied inside the team. It was hazing. I kept telling myself that they’ll eventually stop. I had only hoped that it wouldn’t go out of hand before they had finally accepted me in the team.

 

One evening, our team had been defeated terribly by one of our biggest rival schools. We were all supposed to return to our dormitories. Instead, the upperclassmen had decided to party on. They had dragged me with them. I think their initial plan was to have me as their watch in case someone caught them. So I stood there for a couple hours, watching and watching.

 

Then I heard the girls leave after a fight. They were from a nearby university. I watched them all leave as I stood outside watching. I never should have gone inside to ask what was wrong. I should have waited outside until everyone inside had crashed from too much drinking and too much drugs, but I did.

 

They were so angry. I think they were planning to spend the night with the girls, but like I told you, they’ve all gone by then. They were looking for a target to release their anger and sexual frustration.”

 

Tom’s hand has been brushing his damp hair for a while, but Chris had never felt so awake under his calming touch. He keeps his eyes on Tom’s lips. He doesn’t have the courage to face Tom’s eyes yet. Until tonight, he had believed that he kept his eyes shut in the mornings, enjoying Tom’s hand on his hair, for the sake of Tom, to allow him to escape from his façade. He’s been wrong. He realizes he’s been wrong. He realizes that he had kept his eyes shut, because he is too much of a coward to face Tom’s truth. If his momentary cracks had affected him so much, he didn’t know how he could possibly handle the  _real_  Tom. He is weak. He is a coward.

 

“They were brutal, Chris. I had broken ribs and a broken leg. I think those were the only parts that ever healed. I had to leave school for a year. I had to transfer and start all over, but I was never the same. The baffling part is that most of the boys couldn’t recall what they had done by the next day, because they were too wasted. I’m just a blur. I’m just a forgotten memory to them and I have to live every day until the rest of my life, repeating that nightmare over and over again that no one remembers.”

 

Chris wraps his arms around Tom and hides his face on his chest. Tom continues to brush his hair. His voice is calm. His heart beats rather regularly. Chris closes his ear on his heart. He searches for something, anything, to calm his mind. He feels lost. He feels helpless in the situation he cannot change. The race, he can win, but in others, he’s not so sure.

 

“I used to be in love. I used to be in love with someone in the club. He was everything that I could never be. He had such a natural leadership to him. Everyone in the team respected him and listened to him. I keep thinking, if he had a bottle less of alcohol, or maybe a sniff less of cocaine, he could have stopped his teammates from ruining me, because he had been the only who never participated in hurting me.

 

Pain and anger and sadness, all those, they do such strange things to you. In the end, I blamed him more than anyone else. For years, for nearly a decade, I thought of revenge. I obsessed over the past. I made a choice, a wrong one, and allowed my past to take over my present and future.”

 

Tom gently lifts Chris’ face up from his chest. Chris cannot look him in the eyes, not this time, not when he feels so lost and helpless.  _Look at me_ , he hears Tom whisper and yet, he cannot. Instead, he sits from the bed and kisses the man. He shuts his eyes and kisses Tom as passionately as he can, because this is the best he can do. After all the life risking races, he cannot dare risk his relationship with Tom. He’s scared. He’s a coward.

 

There are thin sheets crumpled between their naked bodies. Chris lifts his body. He traps Tom between his strong arms.  _Look at me,_  he hears Tom whisper again and still, he cannot. He bucks his hips against the sheets, against Tom’s cock. He pushes and pushes on until they’re both hard. He loves how the sheets move under his sensitive cock. He loves, even more, how Tom’s cock is hard under the sheets beneath him.

 

Tom pushes himself up and searches frantically for his lips. He happily gives in. He happily opens his lips up for him. He feels Tom’ hands push away the sheets until he traps their cocks inside his hand. Chris’ hand is soon to follow. The room fills with heavy moans and breathless gasps.

 

“Look at me!”

 

Tom shouts and finally, finally, Chris locks his eyes with him. Tom’s breath stutters and his eyes shut tight and he’s coming, coming on their hands, hot ropes of come covering their hands. Chris looks at him. He looks at Tom, who’s still lost in his orgasm, his eyes closed and his body trembling. He looks at Tom, who has become a part of his life, who he wants to keep in his life. He looks at Tom, who has become his permanence. He bites his lips as he comes, creating more mess between their bodies, on the sheets, on the bed.

 

“I finally let go. I think I finally forgave him.”

 

Chris hears him whisper. He closes the distance between them and places his lips on Tom’s. Tom willingly opens his lips for him. He wraps his arms around his neck. He wraps his legs around his waist. The stickiness makes them laugh, but their lips do not leave. Chris tangles his fingers on Tom’s curls. He never wants to leave him. Running out of breath, they finally separate, giving themselves a few inches of space. There are tears on their faces. He doesn’t know whether they’re from Tom or from him. He carefully wipes them away.

 

“I think I love you.”

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

_I think I love you._

 

So maybe it was a mistake, but Chris doesn’t want to call it that. He doesn’t want to call it a mistake, because he doesn’t regret it. It may have accidentally slipped out of his mouth at the heat of the moment, but he certainly wouldn’t take it back. Tom had finally shared a piece of himself, a big piece that had destroyed him and built him back up to a different man. It was a secret that made him so vulnerable. He was like a shard of thin ice, dangerous, and now in Chris’ eyes, so breakable.

 

_I think I love you._

 

Tom stirs fear within Chris. He makes him uneasy, but Tom is also the only one who can take away this fear. His body eases into Tom’s. He is scared that Tom will leave him in the end and that fear goes away when Tom returns, time and again. He is afraid that Tom will tire of him of his disagreeable behaviors and wild habits, so Chris has stopped them. He has changed, waiting in his home alone until the door opens, to see Tom walk in, his sharp eyes searching for any signs that Chris may be in a state far from sober. His heart flutters in small pride of his approval when Tom continues to close the distance between them for a kiss.

 

_I think I love you._

 

Chris wanted to run away when Tom had finally revealed his scars. The pain Tom was willing to share felt too much, too heavy for him. He wasn’t ready for this. Fear crept inside him and he wanted to run away from the story Tom was telling him. _Who was he going to run to?_ The answer was simple. The answer was right in front of him, or more specifically, beside him, brushing his hair and narrating the story of his past in a calm voice. He was running in circles.

 

Chris _thinks_ he loves Tom. He’s _loved_ hundreds of people in his life, maybe thousands. Chris thinks he _really_ loves Tom, because he doesn’t want to let go. The main focus of his life has been _fun_. _You’re missing the point in living, if you haven’t had fun._ He had told the people around him countless of times when they were moping around. The _fun_ side of him has told him again and again to let go of Tom, that it was getting _too real_ for him.

 

Tom scares him. Tom makes him think. He makes him think about them, _together_ , but he wants the togetherness. He enjoys the togetherness too much that he wouldn’t mind sacrificing a bit of fun for that. Maybe he’s getting old, but Chris thinks he _really_ loves Tom, because as much as this relationship scares him, he wants to be with him. He almost feels responsible to be with him, especially during moments similar to that night. He knows that responsibility takes the fun away, but he finds a new kind of fun when he’s in bed with Tom, kissing him and listening to his heartbeat while Tom’s hand is on his hair. He realizes that permanence isn’t having a bed to jump into each night after a race or a wild party, but to Tom, _specifically Tom_ , where he can fall asleep comfortably with his arms wrapped around his body.

 

So then, this isn’t a mistake, except it feels like a mistake. Tom had spent the next day with him in peace. He had occasionally smiled, even laughed, whenever Chris acted silly. He had wrapped his arms around him, resting his chin on his shoulder and patting Chris gently on the hand whenever his mind returned to the racetrack, then to Brühl’s accident. Throughout the whole day, they had small talks, ordered multiple room services, and more than anything, fucked the hell out of each other.

 

Tom had left for England the next morning and Chris had, too, soon after. He had raced in one country after another and had won the race one after another. On a dangerously rainy day in Japan, he shouted in joy, standing on the podium, lifting the trophy high for everyone to see. He had won the world championship.

 

During the span of four months, up to the best moment of his life, winning the championship, not once had Tom visited him. His team had mocked of Tom’s strangeness, asking, _what kind of sponsor doesn’t come to see his best racer win the world championship?_ Chris had laughed along, drank until he lost count of the bottles he’d finished off, and partied on all night long, but his heart raced not in excitement, but in fear. He needed Tom.

 

∞

 

The postbox is filled with all kinds of mails when Chris returns home. He carelessly dumps his luggage on the floor and looks through the bundle of letters that have been accumulating for the past two weeks. There are letters congratulating his victorious race, news clippings about his performances sent from his family and friends, some fan letters, and junk mails.

 

Then one letter catches his eyes immediately. It is from Tom, or more precisely from the company he represents. He rips it open. His lips go dry as he reads quickly over the lines. His eyes linger a while on the bottom of the paper where Tom’s full name is neatly signed on. His eyes return to the first line of the letter to the bottom, again and again and again. _You are no longer subjected to… Permitted to transfer sponsorship without… Further notice will be delivered through…_

 

The letter never leaves his hands. Chris is on the couch, staring at the letters and words. His breaths are heavy. He shakes his legs hard enough to make the couch creak. There are no hidden meanings between these words and lines, yet his eyes search for them frantically. He thinks of the last time they were together. _I think I love you._ Was it a mistake?

 

Chris nearly jumps from the couch and grabs his keys. He’s never undressed since he returned home. He hears the door shut loudly behind him and he’s running to his car. The engine revs and the car vibrates under him unlike the one from the races. He taps his fingers nervously on the steering wheel as he heads out. As much as he is scared, he knows something must be done.

 

∞

 

“He’s not here at the moment. I don’t think he’ll be back for another hour or so.”

 

“I’ll wait until he comes back.”

 

The secretary recognizes his face right away with wide eyes, but she seems to know why Chris is here. Her voice shakes when she answers and there is a nervous smile on her face that he returns kindly, sitting down on one of the uncomfortable chairs. He stares at Tom’s office, where the door is mercilessly shut.

 

He stares a little longer as he recalls the first day he’d stepped inside that office. Tom had suggested sex in return of sponsorship. His voice rang with neutrality. He reminded him of an accountant reciting numbers. Of course, Chris accepted the deal with an equal calmness, hiding within him his racing heart. _On your knees then_ , he had said and Chris had dropped to his knees without any hesitation. From the moment they met, there was something _off_ with them, but they have molded so well for another, or at least that’s what Chris wants to believe. _So why-_

 

“So how was Tom like in school?”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

Chris wakes from his thoughts when the secretary asks. She must have been studying him since the moment he walked in the office. He is smiling at her with his best smile, but he cannot hide the fact that he has no idea what she’s talking about. He lifts his shoulders and shrugs.

 

“Sorry. I know you two want to keep it a low profile about that fact and that’s probably why Tom always goes to your races and doesn’t say he was there, but I’m just so curious. Tom is always so reserved, but when he’s happy, he laughs like the happiest child in the world and I’ve always wondered if he’s always been like that, or if he’s changed through the years. Then I found out that you two were in the same school and I can’t help, but ask.”

 

His heart drops. He’s felt this countless of times before, but it’s a feeling that he never gets used to, or never wants to get used to. Chris can see that she almost feels embarrassed about asking about Tom. He catches the blush spreading on her face and notices the way she’s trying to explain herself. She believes that his face has gone rigid, because she has known about their past when the truth behind his rigidness is completely something else.

 

So he forces out an awkward smile, a smile that is befitting to the situation. He chuckles and scratches the back of his head. It’s a typical reaction of _you caught me_ and she bites her lips and laughs along. He feels sick like he always does before the race. He wants to bend down and throw up, but instead, he keeps his smile and lies. He’s afraid. He wants to run away, but he needs to know.

 

“How did you find out?”

 

“Well, Tom and his father, you know how they barely talk with one another. A lot of the times, I’m their messenger. One day Mr. Hiddleston had asked Tom to get rid of his old junks from the house. I guess Tom only took with him what he needed when he left to live on his own. Well, that day, he was so busy at work here. So I volunteered to go to the house. It wasn’t so bad. A lot of his stuffs were already packed in boxes and ready to go. Then I found a box that had the school name on it. I didn’t know then that you two had gone to the same school, but later on, I saw you on the telly and happened to hear you talk about your school. Then of course, when you couldn’t find a sponsor, Tom had helped you out. I thought it was so sweet.”

 

The grip on his hand tightens with each word she says with enthusiasm. He wants to scream and shout and break every sharp object in the office, but he also wants to cover his ears tight with his hands and duck down, hide himself from the shame. The fun side of him yells at him viciously. _I told you to leave him. Now look what he’s done to your life!_

 

Tom’s voice rings inside him over and over again. _I keep thinking, if he had a bottle less of alcohol, or maybe a sniff less of cocaine, he could have stopped his teammates from ruining me._ His nails dig in, too sharp and too deep, and he knows that his palm, yet to heal from the race, is bleeding again. He knows that Tom has been bleeding. He knows that he’s made him bleed. He lowers his head. He studies the floor that blurs under him. He’s never hated himself this much in his life.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“Yes, I just had to-”

 

He raises his eyes to assure her that he’s fine, but her eyes are not on him anymore, and before he can turn around, he feels a gentle hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t want the gentle touch. He doesn’t deserve this gentleness, yet when he feels those fingers squeeze his shoulder, he wants nothing more than to lean onto him, to wrap his arms around his waist and hide his face on his stomach.

 

“Come on, Chris. Let’s go inside.”

 

Everything becomes a blur from the moment Tom had guided him into his office and left to chat with his secretary to the moment he had returned and stood quietly in front of his seat. He doesn’t raise his eyes to look at him. He cannot look at him. He dares not look at him. His hands tremble and soon, his shoulders follow. His eyes try to focus on the button of the jacket Tom’s wearing, but it keeps blurring away. He has become more and more certain of what he wanted until ten minutes ago. Now, everything has become more unclear than ever.

 

“What have you done to your hand?”

 

Tom hands are soon on his right hand, unfolding his fist. He hears him sigh. Tom’s hands move busily around him. He takes his handkerchief from his pocket and ties it neatly around his hand. There is that gentle squeeze again. Chris knows it. He’s weak. He’s afraid. He’s a coward. He cries out and rushes to hold Tom in his arms. He wails loud enough for the secretary outside to hear, but under Tom’s clothes, the sounds become muffled. He feels Tom’s hand on his hair, his shoulders, and his back, trying to soothe him the best he can.

 

Tom lifts his chin up, but Chris stubbornly continues to look away. _Look at me_ , he whispers. Chris wonders if Tom had heard the conversation he had with the secretary. Maybe he can go on, pretending like he doesn’t know anything. Tom seems to want to hide it, too, so why even bother to bring it up? He should bury it. He shouldn’t be digging this up and make a mess out of their relationship. It will surely work between them then.

 

“You haven’t come to see me for months. You missed the most important race of my life and I come back home to get a letter notifying me our contract will be over soon. What is going on?”

 

“You have to go on with your life. Get rid of this ridiculous deal between us. Find a good sponsor who doesn’t ask for strange favors like I do. Chris, I’m letting you go. It’s the right thing to do for the both of us.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

There is blame in his eyes. There is hurt in his eyes. Chris laughs, because they are becoming alike. He laughs, because Tom cringes in confusion. Chris laughs, because they are replaying the first day they had met in this office, except today, their roles have switched. He blames Tom for not telling him earlier. If he would have known earlier, his pain wouldn’t be so overwhelming. He laughs, out of control, because-

 

“I’m so fuckin’ selfish.”

 

“Chris, don’t say that.”

 

“Do you know how much I hate you right now? Even if I kneeled and begged for forgiveness right now, it wouldn’t be enough and yet, I hate you for not telling me any sooner! It fuckin’ hurts and I don’t know what to do and I hate you for making me feel this way!”

 

“I was going to tell you in person, but it would have distracted you and I knew how much this race meant to you. At that time, I thought it best to write you that letter-”

 

Chris knocks the chair down and pushes Tom to the desk, nailing him down and making a mess out of the neatly organized desk underneath them. His eyes widen and Tom instinctively stretches his arms out to fight the heavy weight off him. He kicks and punches and struggles the best he can, but Chris refuses to let go. He refuses to let go, despite the bruise that is blooming on the side of his face and the blood that is dripping from his torn lips. He can feel the fear radiating all over Tom’s mind and body and he feels disgusted, disgusted of himself.

 

“You’re scared. You would have never been this scared if I had a bottle less of alcohol, or a sniff less of drugs.”

 

He hears the gasp. So Tom hadn’t heard their conversation outside. So Chris could have pretended like he didn’t know anything. So maybe it was a mistake, but he doesn’t want to call it that. He doesn’t want to call it a mistake, because he doesn’t regret it and he surely won’t take it back. _I think I love you._ This was an act of love. As much as it hurt, as much as he wanted to avoid it, as much as he was scared of it, this was an act of love.

 

∞

 

“How did you find out?”

 

“How did I find out so late? How did I not know?”

 

“You couldn’t have. There was never any police reports made. My father thought it a shame that I was unable to defend myself properly. I was rushed to the hospital by the first person who found me and while I was recovering, my father and the school had agreed to close the incident as a drunken fight between the boys. Everyone who had been there, including myself, received two weeks of suspension. When they returned to school, I was still in the hospital and was told by my father that I’d be going to another school.”

 

Chris doesn’t answer. He is still angry, partly because Tom is trying to defend him when he doesn’t deserve any of it and mostly because he cannot stand himself. The anger comes from the fact that he is still sitting here across from Tom who is watching him with worried eyes. He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve any of it. He wishes someone would beat the hell out of him. He picks on his nail furiously. There are little drops of blood seeping out all over his fingers. Tom reaches out to stop him, but he jerks away with a heavy sigh.

 

He looks out the curtained window. The sun had set not too long ago. The outside was blue and gray all over. He turns to Tom, who’s been looking at him relentlessly for the past hour. He’s been looking at Chris, whose face had turned blue and gray all over. Chris sees the way he glances down to press on his bruised knuckles with his finger as if he regrets throwing punches at Chris. Now they are replaying the night in the hotel in Germany, both sitting on the carpet floor, Tom trying to console the childish man and Chris, reluctant to accept the consolation. It angers Chris again and he spits out.

 

“Why the hell are you sitting there, defending me? Just spit out the truth! Don’t you feel better now that I’m suffering here in guilt? You should be telling me to go die in agony or something!”

 

Tom doesn’t answer. Instead, he cringes and bites his lips. He looks like he’s on the verge of breaking down in tears. He’s never looked so helpless since Chris had first met him. Chris shuts his eyes and shouts at the top of his lungs. He’s glad that no one is in the office anymore. They’ve all gone home to their loved ones, to their home, sweet home.

 

He shouts and shouts until he runs out of breath. The noise resonates. It breaks the silence that they have always carried with them, the silence that Chris has found so calming, yet so fragile. The sighs, the countless sighs they’ve shared between them, turn into deadly shouts. Chris understands. Finally he understands, the unsaid pain and frustration that Tom must have shouted alone all these years and how they’ve slowly transformed into those deep sighs, because no one ever listened, no one ever cared.

 

He shouts and shouts until his voice goes hoarse. Tom is a mess in front of him, sobbing and weeping silently. Everything makes him angry. He feels like his body’s going to explode. He actually wishes it would explode, because he cannot take this growing heaviness within him anymore. He crawls to where Tom is and snaps.

 

“Do something! Say something! Please!”

 

The calm demeanor and composure Tom has carried around have gone away. Chris sees in front of him a teenage boy who hasn’t been healed properly, whose heart had mended so painfully. So he breaks it again and again, because he wants this man, this man who he loves _too_ much, to be better, to be free of all this heaviness crashing him down. In several hours, Chris has matured by a decade while Tom has returned to his helpless, frightened youth.

 

He shakes his weak body. He pushes him to the wall, to the floor. He yells at him. He does all these over and over, again and again. In the end, they are pushing and pulling each other, shouting and throwing punches against one another. Their glares are unforgiving and their words are vicious enough to kill. They are bruised and battered, but they keep fighting. In the end, they are in each other’s arms, eyes swollen from all the crying, voices hoarse from all the shouting, and bodies sore from all the punches.

 

∞

 

At the break of dawn, they walk away. They walk the opposite direction, heading to their cars. They don’t pause to look back. They don’t linger. They keep walking until they reach their cars. Chris hears the engine start. He grips the steering wheel hard. Tom’s handkerchief is still wrapped around his right hand. He watches Tom’s car pass by. He’s never been so tired in his life. He stares at the blood stained handkerchief.

 

Chris starts the car and leaves the parking lot. His eyes stay on the handkerchief thrown on the cement ground until he turns his focus on the road.

 

∞

 

Chris hisses as the nurse pours alcohol down his stomach. His hiss soon turns into a deep laugh as he continues to share a small conversation with her. He smiles at the way her fingers linger on his skin. He closes the distance between them and whispers into her ear. She smirks at his silly joke. He places his hand on her waist, giving her the obvious signal. She turns around to shut the curtains when the door bursts open.

 

“I’m here to see Chris Hemsworth.”

 

“Sir, unless you’re a family member, you’re not allowed to-”

 

“I’m his sponsor.”

 

 _Ex-sponsor_ , Chris mutters under his breath. The nurse turns around with a questioning look, but all he can see is Tom’s irritated face and his disheveled clothes. The end of his hair is curling and his skin glistens with sweat. He is a beautiful mess this afternoon. Chris hasn’t seen this beautiful mess for months.

 

“Could you please give us a moment?”

 

Chris tries to hide his smile. It is an interesting tone, somewhat pleading and mostly threatening. He places his hand on the nurse’s wrist and asks, _just a moment_. The nurse huffs, annoyed by the intruder, but nonetheless leaves without further comment. The door shuts and neither of them moves nor speaks. Chris scratches his chin and accidentally brushes his wound. The reaction is immediate for both Chris and Tom. Tom closes the distance as Chris curses.

 

“Why on Earth would you go on a practice race when it’s bloody snowy outside?”

 

“It wasn’t so bad-”

 

His face turns to the side with a twinge of pain. He laughs, enjoying the stars floating around his eyes. He’d nearly forgotten how sharp Tom’s hands could be. He’d nearly forgotten the way he used to tug his hair during a kiss, or while he was sucking his cock. Along with those nearly forgotten memories, he also remembers how gentle his hands were, tracing the scars of his skin, or running his fingers through his hair. He still misses all these. He misses them a lot.

 

“Do you ever worry what people have to go through whenever you act so reckless? I almost got into an accident, trying to get to you! I thought you were gravely-”

 

He ignores the wound. It doesn’t hurt so terribly anyways. He treasures the surprised look on Tom’s beautiful face as he grabs him by the wrist and hugs him tight, so tight it hurts the both of them. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply. He imagines calm waves, coming and going. He imagines soft winds, breezing through the autumn field. He imagines a rich, green forest filled with fresh evergreen scent. He imagines rain, hitting the ground softly. None of those ever work on him. None of those ever satisfy him. So he opens his eyes. He opens his eyes to see the one person, who can calm him, who can make him feel at home. He gently hits his forehead against Tom’s.

 

“You cannot possibly imagine how I felt after I heard about your accident.”

 

“Tell me then.”

 

“I would have lived the rest of my life in regrets. I would have obsessed over the past again. I kept thinking _I should have never let go._ ”

 

“Tom, you don’t deserve someone as terrible as me.”

 

“I’m not that great either.”

 

Chris sighs and Tom sighs along. _Just like old times_ , he mutters. He reluctantly unwraps his arms around his waist when Tom refuses to let go and clings onto him. Chris doesn’t need to put his ear on Tom’s chest to know that his heart is still beating fast. His heart is heavy with guilt and the words are so close to leaving his mouth, but he hesitates, because Tom deserves better. He deserves someone better than him. He sighs again and Tom buries his face deeper on the crook of his neck. _Fuck._

 

“I thought of you, too. When I lost control, I worried for you. I would have never forgiven myself if I left you like that. That’s the worst I could-”

 

“Chris-”

 

“Christ, could you stop cutting me short?”

 

“I love you. I don’t _think_ I love you. I love you and I am sure of it.”

 

Chris finds himself dumbfounded. He even forgets to breathe for a moment until Tom harmlessly punches his bare chest. _Breathe_ , he shouts with that domineering voice of his that Chris loves so much that it’s unbelievable. When he exhales, it’s with a breathy laugh. He shakes his head and bumps his head on Tom’s again.

 

“Are you mocking me, because I said _I think I love you_ last time?”

 

Tom laughs and his eyes curve beautifully, so beautifully. Chris realizes that he needs to smile more often, not that reserved and polite kind of smile, but an actually giggly, laughing smile that is more addictive than any other drugs he’s done. He wants to make him smile like that more often. _Responsibilities_ , the fun side of him tells him and Chris scoffs and easily ignores it.

 

“I know I don’t deserve you. I know that you’ll have a terrible life with me, but I am a selfish, greedy bastard-”

 

“Just say it.”

 

Chris doesn’t. Instead, he pauses and looks at Tom with a cringe between his brows and a smile on his lips. He wants to make the right decision. He carries on his shoulders the responsibility that he didn’t have ten years ago. He will never allow such negligence to break Tom ever again, but will that be enough for him? He shuts his eyes and allows the darkness to swallow him. He hears Tom sigh in front of him. He wants to make the _right_ decision. He whimpers as he feels Tom’s fingers run through his hair. He has thought of this every night since they had gone their separate ways that early morning. He’s afraid that his attempt for forgiveness will _never_ be enough. He’s afraid. He’s weak. He’s a coward, who will always look for a place to run away, a place where he feels safe. _But who will he run to?_

 

“Look at me.”

 

He finally opens his eyes and locks his eyes with his. The answer is right in front of him, whose eyes are curving in happiness, whose lips linger with loving words, whose fingers are running through his hair, reassuring him that they will be fine. So finally, he opens his mouth.

 

“I love you.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is greatly appreciated; also posted on [tumblr](http://ambiguouslines.tumblr.com/tagged/a_fine_line)  
> 


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